Stealing the Alpha’s Heritage

Chapter 28

POV Aria

"Mama, Papa's here again with the wooden swords!"

Kael's voice carries through our small cottage as I knead bread dough at the kitchen counter. Through the window, I watch Thorne walking up the dirt path, two practice swords balanced on his shoulder, his face relaxed in a way I haven't seen in years.

"Tell him we'll be ready after breakfast," I call back, not moving from my task. "And remind him he promised to help fix the fence today before any training."

"But Mama, the fence is boring," Kael protests from the doorway, his green eyes—completely green now, no trace of that terrifying red—pleading with me. "Can't we do swords first?"

"Work before play, little wolf." I don't look up from the dough, though I feel Thorne's presence as he reaches our porch. "That's the rule in this house."

"Your mother's right," Thorne's deep voice agrees from outside. "Besides, a warrior who can't maintain his home isn't much of a warrior at all."

"Papa agrees with everything Mama says now," Finn observes from his spot by the fireplace, where he's been drawing—real drawings with charcoal on paper, not phantom tracings only he could see. "The shadows used to tell me he was too proud for that."

"The shadows don't talk to you anymore," I remind him gently, finally turning from my bread-making. "That's over, remember?"

"I know." Finn sets down his charcoal, studying his drawing of our cottage with critical eyes. "Sometimes I think I miss them, but then I remember they wanted me to hurt people, and I'm glad they're gone."

"Can I come in?" Thorne asks from the threshold, still respecting the boundary we established six months ago—he doesn't enter without permission.

"After you help Kael with the fence posts." I return to my dough, hiding my smile at his frustrated sigh. "The ones on the east side are rotting. I bought new wood from the market yesterday."

"You could have asked me to get the wood," he says, and I hear the careful neutrality in his voice. "I would have brought it."

"I'm perfectly capable of buying my own supplies, Thorne." I shape the dough into loaves with practiced movements. "This is my home. I maintain it."

"Our home," Kael corrects, wrapping his arms around my waist from behind. "Yours and mine and Finn's."

"Exactly." I ruffle his dark hair with floury fingers. "Ours. Now go help your father with those fence posts."

They troop outside together, Thorne teaching Kael how to properly dig post holes while I watch from the window. Six months ago, I would never have imagined this scene—Thorne working in the dirt without complaint, teaching our son practical skills instead of just combat techniques, accepting my independence without trying to reclaim me.

"Mama, you got another letter," Finn says, pulling an envelope from the stack of mail on the side table. "It's from Uncle Van again."

The third letter this month. Like all the others, I don't open it.

"Put it with the rest," I tell Finn, nodding toward the drawer where I keep his unopened correspondence. "Maybe someday I'll read them, but not today."

"Why does he keep writing if you never answer?" Finn asks with the blunt curiosity of a three-and-a-half-year-old. "Doesn't he know you don't want to talk to him?"

"Sometimes people need to apologize even when forgiveness isn't guaranteed," I explain, pulling the bread from the oven. "He hurt us, and now he's sorry. Writing letters helps him deal with that guilt."

"Papa hurt us too," Finn points out, his gray eyes too perceptive for his age.

"Your father is earning his place in our lives through actions." I set the fresh bread on cooling racks.

Through the window, I watch Thorne lift Kael onto his shoulders so he can hammer the top of the fence post. They're both laughing, covered in dirt, looking nothing like the Alpha and heir they once were. The curse is gone, but more than that—the toxic pride that nearly destroyed our family has faded too.

"Breakfast!" I call out the window. "Wash up first, both of you!"

They come in with clean hands and faces, though dirt still clings to their clothes. We sit around my small table—nothing like the grand dining halls of Silverfang or Moonveil—and eat simple food I made myself.

"The boys are progressing well with their training," Thorne says between bites of bread and honey. "Kael's form is excellent, and Finn's strategic thinking surprises me every day."

"They're three and a half years old, Thorne." I pour milk for the twins. "They should be learning to read and write, not just fight."

"Why not both?" He grins when both boys nod enthusiastically. "I brought primers too. We can do letters after sword work."

"Manipulation through bribery?" I raise an eyebrow. "That's your new strategy?"

"It's called compromise." His green eyes meet mine across the table. "I'm learning to appreciate its value."

After breakfast, he works with the boys in the yard—first wooden swords, then letters traced in the dirt, then basic mathematics using stones as counters. I tend my garden, preserve vegetables for winter, and maintain the independence I fought so hard to achieve.

"You seem happy," Thorne says later, finding me hanging laundry while the boys nap inside. "This life suits you."

"Freedom suits me," I correct, clipping a sheet to the line. "No pack politics, no hierarchies, no one making decisions about my life except me."

"And the boys? Are they happy here?" He hands me clothespins without being asked, another small change in the man who once demanded service from everyone around him.

"They're thriving." I pause in my work to really look at him. "No curse hanging over their heads, no pressure to be future Alphas, no violence brewing in their blood. They're just children now."

"Thanks to you." His voice drops to something more intimate. "You saved them, Aria. You saved all of us."

"We saved them together." I return to hanging laundry, needing the distance. "That's the only reason you're here, Thorne. Because when it mattered most, you chose them over your pride."

"Is that the only reason?" He moves closer, not touching but near enough that I can smell his familiar scent—pine and earth, no longer mixed with the metallic tang of Alpha dominance.

"It's enough reason for now." I sidestep him to grab another basket. "You visit, you teach them, you help when asked. That's what we agreed to."

"And if I want more?" The question hangs between us like morning mist. "Not now, maybe not even soon, but someday?"

"Then you keep earning it." I meet his eyes steadily. "Every day, with every choice, you prove you're not the Alpha who locked me in a basement."

"I can do that." He steps back, respecting the boundary I've set. "I'll do that for as long as it takes."

"Papa, are you staying for dinner?" Kael asks sleepily from the doorway, rubbing his eyes. "Mama's making stew."

"That's up to your mother," Thorne replies, looking at me with a question in his eyes.

I consider for a moment, then nod. "You can stay. But you're helping with dishes afterward."

"Deal." His smile transforms his face, making him look younger, lighter. "Should I fix the loose board on your porch steps while I'm at it?"

"If you have time." I hide my own smile by turning back to the laundry.